


Entropy

by entropy25



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 03:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4003498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entropy25/pseuds/entropy25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if he had locked the case?</p>
<p>What if she had not been taken?</p>
<p>What if they had had their chance?</p>
<p>A FitzSimmons AU from Simmons' POV - what would have happened if they had gone to dinner?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Entropy

**Author's Note:**

> In the wake of the finale, I basically went completely nuts until I convinced myself that the last five seconds of the finale didn't happen. Then I started thinking about what would have happened next...and thus this fic was born.
> 
> The fact that my username shares the title of the fic is complete coincidence...I made it long before this even occurred to me.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> \---

Everything can change in a heartbeat.

It takes only a second, a heartbeat, to make a life-changing decision. To utter three little words – “ _More than that_ ”, or “ _Maybe there is_ ”. To open a door, or to close one.

In a heartbeat, everything can change.

* * *

“Somewhere…nice.”

Jemma slowly looked up as what he was asking finally dawned on her.

The last few days had been a whirlwind. There had been several surgeries for Bobbi and then the Director’s amputation to deal with. Skye had shown no ill effects from whatever it was her mother had done to her, but Jemma had been monitoring her just in case. On top of all this she, Fitz, and Mack had been tasked with beginning analysis of the alien artifact.

Although they had both been busy, she and Fitz had barely been apart. Jemma had tried not to be hyperaware of the moments in which they had found themselves alone, but it was a losing battle. Every time the lab had suddenly emptied or they had gone off to locate something together she had felt her knees go weak, waiting for him to bring up that last conversation before the mission. To her disappointment, Fitz had said nothing, so neither had she. She had tried to hide her anxiety by being either overly cheerful or overly short with him. (Both strategies were ill-conceived.)

Jemma had told herself that there were more important things to deal with at the moment…but that horrible, over analytical part of her was convinced that he was avoiding the conversation on purpose. That his feelings had changed and he was searching for a way to let her down gently.

Perhaps not.

Jemma felt her heart start to race as she met his eyes. She tried to say something, but apparently the only thing that an exceptionally intelligent individual with two pHD’s could come up with was, “ _Oh_.”

_You idiot_ , she cursed herself. But he obviously got her meaning – words had never been the most effective means of communication for her and Fitz, anyway - because he was leaning against the glass case, smiling, and she started to smile back. Then his hand slipped and he nearly fell over, cool nonchalance completely blown, and Jemma felt a warm rush of affection surge through her.

“Good. Okay,” he said quickly. “Uh…well, uh…you should come find me when you’re finished here and I’ll – I’ll start working on options to run by you…for that.”

He turned and left, closing the door behind him. Jemma could not stop the ridiculous smile that slowly spread across her face as she walked forward.

The door abruptly opened. She nearly dropped the piece of equipment she was holding.

“Uh, should probably just…” Fitz walked back in, gesturing vaguely at the glass case. Jemma stood frozen as he fiddled with something on the door of the case. There was a sound of something pressurizing, then he stepped back, satisfied. He glanced at her and cleared his throat. “Right…well…I’ll see you when – uh, when I do.”

He winced and then hurried out of the room again. This time Jemma didn’t fight the ridiculous smile.

She was vaguely aware that the alien artifact began to emit a low humming as she tidied up, but preoccupied as she was, Jemma didn’t give it a second glance as she left the room.

The rock remained in its glass case, humming, solid and stationary.

* * *

Jemma found him in the lab, sitting on a swivel chair with his laptop perched atop his knees and a pencil clenched between his teeth. A notepad lay open on the desk beside him. Fitz was so engrossed in whatever it was he was doing that he didn’t look up when she entered. Jemma cleared her throat. The pencil fell out of Fitz’s mouth as he glanced up, startled.

“Oh. Thought you’d be…anyway, I’m just, uh, getting started here.” Fitz waved at the notepad, eyes back on his laptop screen. “So, uh, I know you like Italian, and there’s a few places over in - ”

“What’s available tonight?” Jemma blurted out. Fitz looked up and gaped at her.

“Tonight?” he said blankly. “Jemma, we’re on a secret base in the middle of nowhere. We’d need to request leave, and - ”

She shrugged and cleared her throat again. “Well, I very desperately need to procure a piece of equipment from the nearest bit of civilization in order to move forward with my analysis of the alien rock,” she said matter-of-factly. “And…you also need to, ah, come.”

Fitz stared at her for a moment before his face split into the kind of grin she hadn’t seen from him in months.

* * *

The restaurant was quaint, an Italian place in a string of restaurants alongside the river. It was late by the time they arrived and the place was beginning to empty, the restaurant winding down as people dawdled over their glasses of wine or their cappuccinos.

It _was_ somewhere nice, Jemma reflected as the waiter led her and Fitz to a table. It was the sort of place where the waiters wore suit jackets and there were three different types of forks on the tables. She felt a momentary twinge of self-consciousness about her clothing. Since they were supposedly going on a supply run, she had not really had the opportunity to put together a suitable outfit. After speaking to Fitz in the lab, Jemma had hurriedly fixed her makeup and hair, changed her top, and then rushed down to the hangar to the car that was awaiting them.

Fitz had put on a tie. She had noticed, of course, but hadn’t said anything. She knew what a struggle it had been for him to tie a tie in those weeks after he had come out of the coma; once he had recovered Jemma had assumed that he just didn’t want to bother with it anymore. Fitz knew that she liked his ties; in fact, she had been the one who had encouraged him to start dressing more professionally at the Academy, to compensate for his age and his youthful appearance. It had given her a pleasant little thrill to think he had put one on for her.

Fitz came to an abrupt halt as they reached their table. He made a motion towards one of the chairs, as if he were intending to pull it out for her, but the waiter beat him to it. Fitz tried to smoothly transition by picking up one of her forks instead, as if he were inspecting it.

“Yes…uh, good,” Fitz said, quickly putting the fork down and moving around to his side of the table. Jemma tried not to smile as she sat in the proffered chair.

They settled into their seats. The waiter told them something about specials and then left the two of them alone, staring at each other across the table.

Jemma suddenly felt a rush of panic. What were they supposed to talk about? Surely they had exhausted all the quintessential first date conversational topics. She knew everything about him and vice versa. And they certainly couldn’t start with more heavy discussion – _So, when you told me I was more than a friend during our near-death experience at the bottom of the ocean…could you elaborate?_ Flustered, Jemma picked up her menu and pretended to start perusing it, seeing nothing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Fitz was doing the same. Neither of them spoke for at least a minute.

“Do you think May is actually taking a holiday?” Fitz said suddenly.

Jemma lowered her menu. “Why?” she asked interestedly. “Where else would she have gone?”

“Don’t know, but her and Andrew were looking quite cozy the last time I saw them...”

“ _Really_?” Jemma said, eyebrows shooting up. “So you think…the two of them…?”

“Maybe,” Fitz said. “Where on earth would May go on holiday on her own, anyway?”

Jemma shrugged. “A military school?”

“Wilderness survival training,” Fitz suggested.

They grinned at each other over their menus, and then everything was fine.

Fitz ordered a bottle of wine, presumably to mark the formality of the occasion, as he knew both of them preferred beer. Over the first couple of glasses they talked about the rest of the team – Bobbi’s progress, the prosthetic designs that Fitz was working on for Coulson, and Mack’s decision to stay with S.H.I.E.L.D. They reached the subject of Skye as their meals arrived.

“Did she really fight May?” Fitz asked as he shook liberal amounts of parmesan cheese onto his ravioli.

“Apparently. I didn’t see it myself, though. I had gone back to the Quinjet.”

“Yeah, but who won?”

“Well, Skye, I suppose. Although she _did_ have an unfair advantage,” said Jemma as she twirled pasta onto her fork. She looked up abruptly. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to sound…um, negative…about Skye’s powers…”

Fitz shook his head. “No, Jemma, it’s - ”

“I never really – I mean, I’m sorry I - ”

“Listen Jemma, _I’m_ sorry,” he broke in. “For…for giving you a hard time about your approach to Skye before. I know you were only trying to help her.”

“No Fitz, I said some awful things about gifted people and - ”

“It was understandable, you were - ”

“At the time I was frightened, after what happened - ”

“To Trip, I know.”

They were quiet for a moment. “Skye may have new abilities, but she’s still Skye, and she’s still my friend, no matter what I may have said,” Jemma finally said softly. She looked up and met his eyes. “She’s different now, but nothing will ever change the way I see her.”

He held her gaze for a moment, and Jemma was sure he understood that she wasn’t only talking about Skye. Then Fitz cleared his throat and became occupied with his ravioli. Jemma smiled to herself and tucked into her own meal.

They moved onto lighter topics as they moved into dessert. They reminisced about all-nighters in the lab, about Doctor Who marathons at the Academy, about the time they had added baking soda to the ketchup bottle in the staff lounge at Sci Ops and watched it explode spectacularly all over Evans, whom neither of them had liked. By the time the bill came, Jemma was feeling deliciously tipsy from the wine and giddy from laughing until her sides hurt over their miserable, ketchup-spattered colleague.

“I had forgotten about that,” Fitz said, still chuckling as they made their way out of the restaurant. Without discussing it, they started strolling down the path next to the water. Most of the places in the area had outdoor patios that backed onto the river; the sounds of laughter and music and the smell of cigar smoke drifted over to them as they walked along.

“I suppose we did get to be pranksters, after all,” Jemma mused. “Although that was revenge more than anything else, for those horrific accents he put on every time he had to say something to one of us.”

“ _Och, where’s your kilt, then, Fitz_?” Fitz mimicked in an over-exaggerated brogue.

“ _Wouldn’t you like some tea and crumpets_?” Jemma simpered. “Ugh, how could someone with so many degrees be so ignorant?”

That led them back to the Academy again, about being the youngest and the only Brits, about the epic successes and failures of the many pet projects they had always had on the go, about the early days of their friendship and how their initial competitiveness had transformed into a brilliant partnership.

After a time, they lapsed into companionable silence. Jemma still felt as though she was in a pleasant haze induced by good food and good wine; she listened dreamily to the different genres of music blending into one another as they walked past different bars and cafés.

Suddenly, she realized with a jolt to her stomach that her fingers were intertwined with Fitz’s. She was briefly alarmed. How long had they been holding hands? Who had instigated it? Had he realized it too? Furthermore, since when had Fitz – _Fitz_ – been able to make her breath catch and her stomach do somersaults?

If she was truly honest with herself, Jemma reflected, it had perhaps always been there. She had felt nervous around him at the start – butterflies in her stomach, palms sweaty – but that had been from the thrill of competition, surely, the excitement of finding someone perhaps as advanced and as different as she was. But once that had blossomed into friendship…

“I suppose it was entropy,” Jemma said out loud.

Fitz glanced at her, frowning. “Entropy?”

“You know, nature spontaneously proceeds towards disorder.”

“I know what entropy is, Jemma,” Fitz said wryly. “And technically, it’s actually a quantitative measure of - ”

“Oh shush, Fitz, I’m trying to explain something important,” Jemma said fervently. She stopped walking and Fitz came to a stop in front of her, looking down at her expectantly.

“With thermodynamics again?” he said, but there was a softness to his voice. _I like to think about the first law of thermodynamics, that no energy in the universe is created and none is destroyed…_

Jemma was fueled by wine and nerves. Fitz had released her hand and now she twisted her own fingers together. “It’s just that…every relationship I had before I met you was like that. They tended towards disorder.  Friendships, boyfriends, even with my family…I always had to put so much… _energy_ into keeping things from falling apart. But then when you and I became friends, it was just – much easier. I didn’t have to think about it, didn’t have to put so much effort in. I could be myself and not worry that you’d think I was bizarre, or awkward, or too ambitious…”

She took a deep breath. “And that was nice, for a change. So I think that anything I might have…anything else I could have allowed myself to – to feel, I just…buried it, before it could interfere with anything.”

Jemma didn’t consciously remember doing this, of course, but it must have happened. Things were so simple, so easy with Fitz; anything that could have endangered this perfect, wonderful partnership needed to be suppressed.

“So when - ” Jemma swallowed. “So when you said…what you said at the bottom of the ocean, I was just…utterly unprepared for it.”

Fitz remained silent. His face was unreadable. Jemma knew that there was no going back now; the rambling confusion that had been her inner dialogue over the past few months was spilling out. She looked down at her hands and forged ahead.

“Then you were - I thought you were - for nine days, Fitz…and when you came out of it I tried so desperately to help, but everything I did only made it worse, and I thought you’d be better off if I wasn’t there at all.” Jemma was vaguely aware that she was rambling. “And you were, honestly, you had made so much progress by the time I came back. But you thought…” she trailed off. That she had abandoned him when he needed her most? That she had left because he had confessed his feelings?

“It was completely awful when I came back - the avoiding each other and not speaking,” Jemma said quietly. “You were around all the time but I missed you even more than when I was gone.”

It was then, she supposed, that those feelings - buried deep many years ago – began to take root. They had pushed to the surface and grown into a hyperawareness of his presence, a longing to be physically near him when he was around, a cold fear that gripped her when he was in danger. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment that she had started being in love with him; by the time she realized it, she was already well underway.

“So when we finally became friends again, I thought I would feel better. I thought I would feel…relieved.”

She finally gathered the courage to look up again, and found Fitz staring down at her intently with an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes.

“But I didn’t,” Jemma whispered. “I just felt like…like friendship wasn’t enough anymore.”

She exhaled, slowly and shakily. There. It was out, in the plainest words she could manage. Jemma waited anxiously, but Fitz continued to only stare at her.

“Well for God’s sake, Fitz, say something,” she said somewhat desperately.

Fitz licked his lips and then opened his mouth. He shut it. He was looking at her with the same intense look that he wore when trying to work out a difficult scientific problem. He opened his mouth again, seemed to change his mind, and then leaned down and kissed her instead.

It did not feel as Jemma had imagined it would, when she had finally gotten around to allowing herself to imagine it. It was not awkward, as she’d feared, nor was it the passionate kiss of two people who had suppressed their feelings for so long. It was…

Sweet.

Like that moment of falling into bed, exhausted, at the end of a long day. Or the first blast of cold air as you stepped inside on a sweltering hot afternoon. That blissful feeling of sweet relief - that was what kissing Fitz was.

They broke apart, but only slightly, each of them with their eyes still closed. Fitz was holding her tightly with both hands, gripping her at the elbows. Jemma’s eyes fluttered open just as Fitz’s did.

“Was that - ” Fitz said at the same time Jemma began, “Was it - ”

They both laughed nervously and looked down at the ground. Fitz didn’t let go of her; he just leaned forward slightly, so that his forehead was resting against hers. She listened to his shallow breathing, her own heart pounding.

“I thought it was good,” Jemma said quietly.

“Yeah,” said Fitz, his voice huskier than usual. “Yeah, me too.”

They paused, looked up, and then moved towards each other again, slowly this time, pulled together as if by magnetism. This kiss was slow, and deep, and wonderful. Jemma’s hands crept around his neck; her fingers brushed against the small, tight curls at the nape. He moved his hands to her back and brought her closer to him; she could feel his heart thumping wildly as he pressed her to his chest.

They broke apart again but stayed as they were - her hands around his neck, and his hands pressed to the small of her back. Neither of them spoke for a moment.

“ _Entropy_ ,” said Fitz eventually, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I sort of…deviated from the original metaphor, yes,” Jemma admitted, feeling a blush creep up her neck.

They stayed like that, comfortable and quiet, for several minutes. Then by silent agreement they released each other and, hand in hand, headed back.

* * *

_Ten days later…_

Coulson flexed the fingers of his prosthetic hand experimentally. The prosthesis was perfect, an exact replica of the hand he had lost. The faint line between his actual flesh and the synthetic flesh was barely discernible. He drummed his artificial fingers on Fitz’s desk in the lab.

“I feel like Luke Skywalker in the _Empire Strikes Back_ ,” Coulson said.

“Did Mack claim to be your father at any point before he did this?” Fitz asked. Jemma smiled down at her tablet, watching the prosthesis’ response time to Coulson’s nerve impulses.

“That would require time travel and, I’m sure, some complicated explanation of recessive genes that I’m not prepared to listen to at the moment,” Coulson replied. “The hand is perfect though. Nice work, both of you.”

“The robotics were easy, it’s the look of it that’s impressive,” Fitz said enthusiastically, leaning back against the lab bench. “Jemma used your own DNA to program the biomaterial so that it would look exactly like your skin…brilliant, isn’t it?”

Jemma looked up from her tablet this time and favoured Fitz with a bright smile. He smiled back, the one she especially liked, with the one corner of his mouth upturned slightly more than the other. Perhaps they held each other’s gaze too long, or perhaps Coulson already knew at that point, but later Jemma would wonder if that smile – a second too long - had been their undoing.

Jemma had never found anything more interesting or engaging than her work; consequently, she had never found herself lacking focus in the lab. That had not been the case over the last ten days. She felt permanently giddy. She was distracted when he was with her, aware of his physical proximity in the lab as she had never been before. She was distracted when he was not with her as well. Jemma found herself staring at her computer screen but seeing nothing, daydreaming and reliving a hundred little moments from the times when they had found themselves alone: Fitz reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear before he leaned forward to kiss her; the time he had slowly trailed kisses down her neck, which had nearly driven her mad; when she had reached out to squeeze his shoulder as she passed by his workbench, and he had automatically placed a hand over hers and squeezed back.

She and Fitz had not discussed it out loud, but both of them knew that if the rest of the team found out about the shift in their relationship, it would be catastrophic. Therefore, they had tried to act exactly as they had before in the presence of others. The only differences in public were a stolen glance here, a purposeful brush or touch there; it was juvenile, almost, but keeping it a secret was somewhat exciting for Jemma. Whenever they _had_ been alone, they had carefully avoided the areas where they knew there were cameras, just in case. They had actually snogged in a supply closet a few days ago. (Jemma should have felt embarrassed at such behaviour but it had actually been fairly thrilling.) She was all too aware that they were playing the part of giddy teenagers with a secret romance. But seeing as neither of them had actually ever been giddy teenagers, it seemed acceptable to let them have their fun now.

Then there were the last couple of nights…there were undoubtedly cameras in the corridor outside their bunks, but that hadn’t stopped Jemma, that first time, from impulsively stealing into Fitz’s room in the middle of the night. One of them had made the surreptitious venture into the other’s room every night since then. Jemma desperately hoped that her cheeks weren’t burning as she bent down to remove the prosthetic hand from Coulson’s arm. The fingers splayed out and went limp as she disconnected it.

“Right,” she said briskly, trying to dismiss all thoughts of the warmth of Fitz’s bare skin, or how it felt against hers. She cleared her throat. “So we’ll just make some final calibrations and it should be operational by tomorrow!”

“Thank you Agent Simmons,” Coulson said, shifting his arm back into its sling. “And listen, I just wanted to let you two know…usually there’s some paperwork involved when this sort of thing happens - there’s some policy in the HR manual - but I don’t really think it’s necessary in your case.”

Jemma exchanged puzzled looks with Fitz. She felt uneasy. “Sir?”

“You know, that whole section on romantic relationships…can’t affect the work performance of either individual, inappropriate if one person has influence or control over the other’s conditions of employment, et cetera,” Coulson continued casually.

Jemma felt her stomach drop. “I…we…”

“You…what…” Fitz stuttered ineffectually beside her.

Coulson looked appraisingly at both of them, smiling slightly. “Like I said, I don’t think it will be a problem,” he stated. “You two were always better together, anyway.”

“How - ” Jemma choked out, her face growing hot. “How did you - ” _Bloody cameras in the corridor_ , she thought fervently.

“I’m the Director of an international spy agency, Agent Simmons,” Coulson said wryly. “Give me some credit.”

He made a final adjustment to his sling, then turned and strode business-like out of the lab, leaving the two of them gaping after him.

Fitz swore under his breath. “Well, at least it’s only him,” he muttered.

“Oh, everyone knows,” Coulson called over his shoulder. Fitz swore again, more colourfully this time.

The two of them stared after him for a moment, silent. Oddly, after the first few seconds of panic, Jemma felt remarkably calm. In fact, although their secret trysts had been exciting, she found the idea of the team finding out less daunting than it had been several days ago. She looked at Fitz, smiling at the way he stood with his hands on his back, at the familiar lines of his face, at the tie she had picked out for him this morning, pointing to the one she preferred as she sat cross-legged on his bed in one of his old Academy t-shirts.

“Great. They all know. This is going to be madness,” Fitz muttered darkly. “Things proceed towards disorder, indeed.”

Jemma smiled. She gently brushed her hand over his as she turned back towards her work station.

This time, she found she didn’t mind.


End file.
